Wed, 24 May 2017 15:22:35 -0700WeeblyThu, 22 Dec 2016 15:21:30 GMThttp://www.justicegiftsandbeauty.com/writing/beauty-in-the-silence-at-the-end-of-the-gongs-ring​I have been reading Brain Pickings, Maria Popova’s exploration of books, ideas, her own learning, thoughts, and journey to understand. (read her 10 Learnings From 10 Years of Brain Pickings Her exploration and writing is inspiring. It made me think of writing down my own thoughts in pursuit of meaning, and beauty, daring once again to put them out in the vast sea of words that is the blogosphere. I realized that in the age of distraction that exalts Donald Trump’s 140 character emotional spew of non-sense, and un-truth, somehow contributing a pursuit of meaning and beauty seems important.

I began by reflecting on my most recent foray into making my writing public. It was a year ago that I started Justice, Gifts, and Beauty…this blog inspired by reflections on my friend Judith Snow’s life, and her impact on mine. It was to be my endeavor into the discipline of writing. It lasted a month. I stepped away from it. I pretended that it did not even exist, because re-considering it, brought a recurring pattern of thinking that strikes like a hammer…”you failed — again”. But today I waded through and dared myself to re-kindle documenting my exploration of Justice, Gifts, and Beauty.

I sat at my keyboard. I breathed in to calm myself, and I found myself faced with another familiar pattern of thinking…there was nothing there. It is was as though my intention to pay attention scared away all content. I was empty, sitting in a void. It was unnerving, and I prepared to end my start before I began. But I stopped. I waited, hoping that something was there, that I was not really the empty shell I experienced. Waiting was an act of blind faith.

A recollection of a reflection/prayer written by Thich Nhat Hahn's entered the void:

"This food is the gift of the whole universe: the earth, the sky and much hard work.May we live in a way that makes us worthy to receive it.May we transform our own unskilled states of mind and learn to eat with moderation.May we take only foods that nourish us and prevent illness.We accept this food so that we may realize the path of understanding and love."Thich Nhat Hahn

​I paused for a moment, only to find a universe swirling around these words. I could see my self in the swirl. Once again I was struck by the hammer like pattern of self-judging thought that came swinging through, ringing a gong that reminds me of my failure to remain present and aware for even the shortest of moments. After all it was only a year ago that I undertook the pursuit of a path of conscious eating, only now to find myself once again mindlessly, and with a degree of sloth, making eating an act of consumption.

But somewhere past the last experience of the gong’s ring in my head, there was a silence, a moment just before another distracting thought and sound could enter. It was there that I would meet Thich Nhat Hahn's meaning. The everydayness of food, and eating, is so much more than eating. It is about earth, and sky, and air, and water. It is about climate. It is about hard work. It is about sacrifice. It is about a land at risk. It is about the migrants toiling in harvest. It is about truckers on the long haul. It is about the earth and sea's rising temperatures. It is about drought, and fire, and scorched earth. It is about tribal people standing ground to protect land that is sacred in the face of armed troops. It is about relationships. It is about action. It is about healing. It is about understanding. It is about awareness that everything is connected...and everything is so much more than our first glance and initial thought would lead us to believe.

​It was a beautiful, and at times, painful experience of consciousness. It was so much more than thought. It came in a moment, and though brief in duration, it seemed that all of time was enveloped in it.

“We need beauty, because it makes us ache to be worthy of it.”Mary Oliver

In that moment I realized that ​when I stop, and wade past the ritual self judgement, and the unnerving void, to be in the midst of nothing, I can see even the most ordinary experiences as beautiful, and awe inspiring. And in those moments I hear the call to attention, to align myself, to be worthy to receive what has been given. Even for an instant, I can call upon the dignified part of myself to show up for the moment at hand…all the while knowing that my attention span is so short, and I have so much practice falling off the wagon of commitment and discipline.

As Mary Oliver says I "need beauty, because it makes us (me) ache to be worthy of it".

Beauty is always present. It calls out gratitude as my “worthy” response. And gratitude changes everything. It changes how I stand, how I put one foot in front of the other, ultimately, it changes the course of this meandering journey called life, my experience of it, and its experience of me.

]]>Tue, 19 Jan 2016 13:31:31 GMThttp://www.justicegiftsandbeauty.com/writing/vulnerabilitys-giftIn 1982, I met Judith Snow. after a close friend of hers, came recruiting people who could work as her Attendants. Judith was brilliant thinker. Physically, she could breathe, chew and digest, and move her right thumb ever so slightly to activate a switch that controlled the movement of her very large wheelchair. For everything else she required someone to act as her arms and legs. That was the job of her attendants. I took on the job, and developed a friendship that lasted more than 30 years, and gave me an understanding of giftedness that I want to explore in this series of blogposts that I am calling "The Courage To Be Gifted".

Time and space expanded in the rise and fall of one breath. Anger, frustration, confusion, born in near and far experiences, current and long ago, flooded my being on its way to my touch, as I prepared to move her vulnerable still body. Snap! I awake, relieved that awareness has finally arrived.

Stillness was not optional for Judith. Her body simply was not able to move. Every day required that someone would have to enter into the vulnerable space surrounding her body. There was no physical way out of the nature of touch for Judith.

Every day that I worked as her attendant, I moved in and out of that space of vulnerability, as I dressed her, repositioned her, assisted her. It was never my intent to do any harm to Judith, but some days I was more awake and aware than others. I am pretty sure that Judith was sensitively in tune with the moments when I was not aware, when my mind was occupied by some other time, place, and experience.

Judith rarely had a strong reaction to my moments of unconscious effort to move and manipulate her body. Instead, most often there was a silence, or a quiet suggestion guiding me to adjust her position. Judith and I never spoke about her conscious strategy that defined her approach. I am sure that some of it was simply shaped by her desire to limit the need for words to get through the routine daily functions required to live.

But I also believe that her reality moved her to develop a practice of spiritual centering, that would prepare her for what she must do to survive. Her centeredness in her reality, combined with her plan to shape her environment, and control what she could control, made it possible for me to “wake up”, and be where I was, doing the task that was set before me, to serve as Judith’s arms’s and legs.

I learned about the nature of violence and non-violent resistance when I worked as Judith’s attendant. I had already been studying and paying attention to movements of non-violent change. I had read about Gandhi and the liberation of India from British rule, Martin Luther King and the civil rights movement, Thich Nhat Hahn and the Buddhist monks in Viet Nam. I had been a part of non-violent demonstrations for peace and nuclear disarmament. I was strongly considering joining a “witness” program that had North Americans traveling into the violence that was so prevalent in the Central American countries of Guatemala and El Salvador.

But in these daily intimate interactions with Judith’s vulnerability I could see how violence was born in experiences that were not here and now. I could see how my attachment to frustration and anger would flow through my actions. If Judith had raised her voice in anger or frustration to my unconscious attempts, it would have given legitimacy to the violent energy already present, and we would have been engaged in some kind of battle for control. But Judith’s spiritually centered approach in these moments, her acceptance of her vulnerability, created space for me to awaken to the energy that can fuel violence, and I could pause, relax, and slide into a moment of presence to the task at hand.

Vulnerability offers a softness that can serve as a soothing balm in a violent world. There is a potential for awakening that comes through relating to this vulnerability. Many of us spend our lives cloaking our vulnerability, shrouding it with impenetrable force, wrapping it up with our intellect, spewing words that create distance. But there are those among us for whom armoring vulnerability is not a viable option. These people, and the vulnerability they bring, offer a gift to those of who come in contact with them. A softness that drops the barriers between us, that opens a tenderness in our own hearts, that we can feel as our protective armor slips away, and we can feel the “just”ness of relating as we are meant to relate.

In the 1980’s I worked with teachers, principals, administrators, families, and children on making it possible for children with disabilities to be included in typical neighborhood schools. John David was the first student with a disability to be included in this one grade 8 class. He was a 13 year old boy who had cerebral palsy. He walked with a stumbling gait. He would experience seizures that could cause him to fall, and so he wore a helmet, a truly undesirable fashion statement for middle school students. But John David had a huge welcoming smile, and he made no effort to hide his vulnerable self. There was another young boy, Mike, who had a reputation for angry trouble. The teacher noted that every week following this young boy’s visit with his father (his parents were divorced), he came to school with a brooding cloud that would lead to disruption in the class. After John David became a member of the class, the teacher observed that on Mondays following Mike’s weekends with his father, Mike would instinctually gravitate to spend time with John David, his angry cloud would evaporate, and Mike would soften, caught by the vulnerable joy that emanated from John David.

Those who bring naked vulnerability, offer a gift that can soothe a violent world. There is no guarantee that we will awaken, but the peaceful and just possibility awaits us.

]]>Thu, 07 Jan 2016 08:28:51 GMThttp://www.justicegiftsandbeauty.com/writing/the-gift-of-what-isand-the-art-we-make-with-itIn 1982, I met Judith Snow. after a close friend of hers, came recruiting people who could work as her Attendants. Judith was brilliant thinker. Physically, she could breathe, chew and digest, and move her right thumb ever so slightly to activate a switch that controlled the movement of her very large wheelchair. For everything else she required someone to act as her arms and legs. That was the job of her attendants. I took on the job, and developed a friendship that lasted more than 30 years, and gave me an understanding of giftedness that I want to explore in this series of blogposts that I am calling "The Courage To Be Gifted".

Don't complain. Create.

I am 57 years old. Depression has been a frequent visitor in my life, cycling through so many of my years. There have been waves when I would rise to levels of functionality (rarely at full capacity), with periodic moments when joy was felt; or I could see and feel the beauty of sadness; or be awed by the expansiveness that is life, and my small part in it. Far too often though, I felt immobilized, emotionally shrouded, cloaked by an anger that shields a sadness born out of a sense of loss that I feared drowning in if I actually let myself feel it.

The struggle to create the illusion of not being depressed is exhausting. Depression is war, an emotional invasion reinforced by thoughts used as weapons designed to take me down. It became the occupier in the territory of my mind, where I would find myself engaged in a bloody battle (one that I always felt like I would lose), making it difficult to pay attention to anything else.​Slowly my mental radar developed, now flagging depression's approach. Negative thinking shows up. I hear myself automatically, complaining, blaming someone for the reality of my life, and judging other people. I hear these utterances flowing out of my mouth. It would be routine for these outward negative projections to turn into self-judgement and loathing simply for hosting the thoughts....and the downward spiral was engaged. Now these thoughts are signals, like the doorbell in a store that lets the owner know that a customer has crossed the threshold, indicating it is time to pay attention to the interests of the visitor; an opportunity to shift gears, refocus, and seek an alternative to combat.

Gaining perspective on the presence of depression in my life, I found myself curiously drawn to notice art, particularly fascinated by art that incorporates negative space as integral to the whole; or the use of silence between notes in music; and art that transforms ordinary stuff, even junk, into beauty, stretching and manipulating materials in ways beyond the intent of their original design.

This is where my reflections about my friend Judith come in.​When I first went to her apartment on St. Georges St. in Toronto in 1982, I recall seeing a painting that she had created with an art therapist. There were not a lot of these paintings displayed, I only recall one. Back then I don’t remember anyone thinking of Judith as an artist. She was a brilliant woman, an incredible thinker, a life force, a friend, a teacher, an ally... but she was unable to move her arms, hands, legs, feet, or head. While most people could imagine how her painting was “therapeutic”, few, if any, would have viewed it as art, nor would they have seen her as an artist. This painting remained as a sacramental symbol of something she would quietly pursue, a nudging reminder of a dream of self as artist.

The Art of Negative Space -Tang Yau Hoong

DIRTY WHITE TRASH (WITH GULLS), 1998 - Tim Noble and Sue Webster

Bottle cap art

But this is how I see Judith’s approach to life. She is an artist --taking "what is", imagining, and creating. Her body, her mind, her thoughts, her words, her emotions, her experience, her relationships, her attendants, were all materials she would use to create --all of it, and anything else she could gather. Nothing needed to be left out…just another understanding of what inclusion really means. She lived the question, "How can I use "what is" to create the visions that I see?" ​I don't recall hearing her speak about the fact that her muscles didn't function, or wishing that it would be different, that she could walk, or move her arms, hold onto things, or people. I never heard a “whoa is me” attitude. In spite of the fact that most people would find it reasonable that she would long to be like other kids, or other women, or men for that matter, I just don't remember this as her focus.

"What is", was received as a gift, a starting place for creating what could become. It was a beginning, not the end. Through this beginning, she would entertain visions of something beyond all of it, something that she would create. She was relentless in its pursuit. Judith would use it all, everything and everyone available to her, to manifest her vision, her pieces of life, her inventions of self, her art, ultimately making it available for the world to see. ​

I've noticed some things about artists and their creations; sometimes they inspire; sometimes they reflect and shine a light on beauty; sometimes they prophetically expose naked truth; and sometimes they disrupt and disturb. Judith did all of these. She made it possible for people to see, and feel; sometimes soaking up the beauty of possibility; sometimes activating the imagination; sometimes enraging people; and other times causing people to feel like their heads were going to explode as she painted paradigms that shook their foundations.

In recent years I heard Judith declare herself as an artist, committed to "making the invisible, visible". One of the lasting "works of art" Judith made visible is the power, in relationships, to create and transform. Her body's inability to move became had become an opportunity to engage people in the act of creation.

In the late 1970's, after completing 2 degrees at York University, Judith found herself boxed into life in a room in a chronic care hospital, dying. One day she rolled into the office of her friend Peter, and sat in silence, refusing to speak, a non-verbal hunger strike of sorts. For those who knew Judith well, her silence was shocking. It activated Peter to contact another friend, Marsha, who mobilized a wider circle of connections, to liberate Judith from the hospital, and pursue the vision she held for her life, to live in her own apartment, to control and care for her body and life through hiring attendants that she would choose, enabling her to work and contribute in ways that only she could.

This powerful manifestation of relationships, Judith would one day call "the Joshua Committee" (as in the biblical story of bringing down the walls of Jericho), truly a co-creative work of art, that became a model for people gathering to unleash the best contributions and offerings of people, a living example that has captured the imagination and practice of people all around the world.

It would be more than 20 years before Judith’s practice of art, through painting, would show up in more public ways, and still later before the Royal Ontario Museum presented a 3 month exhibition of her art, and a theatrical interpretation called "The Book Of Judith" would appear. The thing that the "therapists" view of the world missed, was that Judith was an artist all along. Her life was her art. She was a performance artist, with the world as the stage, her life as her creative pieces.

On the evening of the memorial celebrating Judith's life, her long time friend, Jay, shared a powerful story of the art of relationships engaged by Judith’s vision.

Ten years earlier, Judith was a founding member of an artist collective, called "Laser Eagles" (now known as Artists Without Barriers) engaging artists with limited mobility or language in guiding visual interpreters or ‘scribes’ to create art. This practice of art enabled Judith to move beyond perceptions of her painting as therapeutic. It was liberating, but a nagging desire lingered in Judith, the desire to experience the solitude of the direct act of creation without the intervention of a visual interpreter.

Jay is the Project Director of The Alliance for Person-Centered Accessible Technologies, at Arizona State University. He listened deeply to Judith's vision, and connected her to research fellows, scientists, engineers, and computer programmers, who engaged in Judith’s vision, in pursuit of the creation of technology that would enable Judith to experience this solitary act of creation. At the time of her death, Judith had captured the imagination of people halfway across the continent, who were actively developing prototypes that would make it possible for Judith to create. ​Judith lived in a culture that was committed to the idea that she should be dead. Faced with this reality, she exercised a different set of mental muscles. Somewhere along the way, Judith took a turn, past the idea of fighting, past the idea of advocating, toward the notion of creating, of living life as art, equipping herself with the eyes to see other possibilities, committing to craft, mold, manipulate, and massage the gift of life she received into a creation that previously was unimaginable. Judith made the unseen, the invisible, visible, for those who dare to see.​And me, after years of growing weary from the war of depression, I seek a non-violent alternative to depression’s occupation. Judith's life as artist provides me with a “way” to see, do, and be, embracing the gift of "what is" (no matter what that may be), as a starting point, to be transformed into the visions that only I can see. It is a “way” worth considering…and so I will.

]]>Tue, 29 Dec 2015 12:09:23 GMThttp://www.justicegiftsandbeauty.com/writing/the-gift-of-followingIn 1982, I met Judith Snow. after a close friend of hers, came recruiting people who could work as her Attendants.Judith was brilliant thinker. Physically, she could breathe, chew and digest, and move her right thumb ever so slightly to activate a switch that controlled the movement of her very large wheelchair. For everything else she required someone to act as her arms and legs. That was the job of her attendants. I took on the job, and developed a friendship that lasted more than 30 years, and gave me an understanding of giftedness that I want to explore in this series of blogposts that I am calling "The Courage To Be Gifted".

I discovered so much about myself when I learned to let go, trust, and follow Judith.

In many ways, my job as Judith’s Attendant sounded simple —I would take on the function of arms and legs, something that I do everyday in my own life. As a young man of 24, I was pretty sure I knew how to do this…that is, until I started.

I was physically strong, intelligent, and had no shortage of ideas about how to do things. In the beginning I paid attention to the tasks -- getting Judith dressed or undressed, in and out of bed, or the car, driving, feeding her. I used my mind, and my body to do what I thought needed to be done.

But the job was to be Judith’s arms and legs; to be directed by her mind, her intentions, and her desired outcomes, and support her unique way of being in the world, and let go of any preconceived notions about what this would mean. In the beginning, I did not know where I was going, or why, and why it was important to go in this way.

So, in the space between thoughts that would direct my movement, and action that would result, there was more than enough room for the two of us to mentally wrestle, seeing who would be in control, whose thoughts would win. Of course my mind was convinced that everything would work much quicker if I was the center of control. My mind was not prepared to give up so easily. In the milliseconds required for movement to happen, I could feel the resistance created by Judith’s thought and intention. Sometimes it came through in her words, her tone, the sound of her breath, the electric silence, or worst of all, a wash of defeat when she would be too tired to resist.

But the whole point and purpose of my employment was for Judith to be in control — of her body, her ordinary life, her pursuit of work, her relationships, and the dreams that only she could imagine.

Eventually I discovered that when I could align myself with this purpose, there was a cavernous space, an opening, where distractions slipped away. In that space I was engaged, and liberated.

Listen…with my whole being.

Pay attention.

See through her vision.

Let my body be guided in doing.

It was meditative. My brain could relax. And a doorway was opened into Judith’s mind. ​​​Judith’s mind was no better than my own. It was just different. In each direction she provided, in each movement required, a whole world of life learning was embodied. I could begin to see how she saw and experienced the world. I felt her finely honed logic and reason, creating order in her apartment, and defining the step by step instructions for her physical care. I experienced her particular sense of style in the clothing she wore, and the placement of the pins, scarves, hats, and capes she chose to accessorize, creating a distinctly Judith look.

I was embedded in Judith’s process for planning and scheduling her life, making appointments, driving to visit friends, attending courses, make presentations, and always needing to calculate the extra-ordinary time that it would take to get ready in the morning, and preparing for bed in the evening.

Nothing about Judith’s physical conditions prevented her from filling her rich life with people and experiences, but as her attendant I could feel when her full schedule began to weaken her body, making her susceptible to cold viruses and infections that could mutate into pneumonia, leading to a grounding stay in the hospital to recover.

Somewhere along her life journey, Judith had accepted her body as it was. She shaped her life to work with this reality. I really don’t recall Judith spending time wishing her life would be different. She was far too busy creating what she wanted it to become.

I do have a sense, however, that she longed for, and cherished, the moments when she could experience the holy grail of communicating without words. Breaking in a new attendant, wading through the “who’s in charge” phase, getting through the stupidity and roughness, was exhausting mentally and physically. There was always the hope that a new attendant would stay in the job long enough to have more moments of mind melding when, without words, the attendant would know what to do. Of course there would always be a need for Judith to verbally direct, but there were so many rituals of daily life, that could be powerful and peaceful if we did not have to use words.

These moments opened a window in both of our minds, a visceral experience of communication beyond words, that enabled us to imagine how language can get in the way. The use of words was a far less satisfying way to hear one another. When unspoken communication was at its best, it was like a mental dance that flowed with ease.

Most of my time as Judith’s attendant was not so graceful, it was clunky, rough, and marked by the stupidity of separateness emerging when the locus of control of Judith’s life was centered in me. But in the brief moments of the flowing dance, when the veil of separateness fell away, I could see through her experience, and it was profound.

Over the past forty years more than 600 people have been gifted with the experience of following Judith as her attendant. I have come to know many of them. Most of the Judith Attendant alumni did not make a career as attendants. We each found our own “way”, in some part molded, manipulated, and forged by the experience of following Judith’s way.

In the short season of my life as Judith’s attendant, I was profoundly changed —the way I see, how I think, how I relate, how I attend to others, has been deeply affected by my immersion in her life. Judith’s “way” served as a mirror for my own life, reflecting back questions about vision, purpose, mindfulness, power and vulnerability, and self-care. ​

Judith made space for me to experience her world, to follow her path, and my life is richer for it.

There is a gift to be found when we dare to immerse ourselves in someone’s life, and follow.

]]>Tue, 22 Dec 2015 20:36:22 GMThttp://www.justicegiftsandbeauty.com/writing/the-courage-to-be-giftedOur granddaughter, Lily, on the day she was born.

More than once I have been blessed with the opportunity to be present when a child is born, …the births of my two daughters, my nieces and nephew, and most recently, our granddaughter. I can only describe it as receiving an incredible gift. It is an awe filled experience leading me to wonder how the gifts held within this tiny body that entirely depends on others to survive, will be made known as time passes.

​I have learned so much about “the gifts” that we each carry, through relating with, observing, and listening to Judith Snow, who passed away, May 31, 2015 at the age of 65.

Judith bundled on a blustery day by the lake.

​By the time I met her in 1982, she was 33 yrs old. She had already past her predicted adult expiry date. Peter Dill, a close friend of Judith’s, came to the youth leadership organization where I worked, recruiting people who might be interested in working for her as her Attendant.

I can't remember exactly what Peter said, but I do remember that because of what he said, I wanted to meet her, and explore the possibility of working as her attendant. I was fascinated by how Peter spoke about Judith, and the relationship he seemed to have with her.

She was his friend, and colleague. He deeply valued who she was, and what she had to offer. Peter made the job opportunity sound noble, not in the stereotypical “do-gooder”, charitable sense of doing something magnanimous for the less fortunate, but rather by making it possible for this “gifted” woman to make her contributions and offerings to the world.

When I met her I discovered that she could breathe, chew, swallow and digest her food, speak, and move one thumb that activated a switch that controlled her very large wheelchair. For anything else she needed someone to act as her arms and legs. That was the job. This would be a challenge, but I was most interested in who she was, and absolutely curious about how she lived. I expressed my interest in working for her, and Judith hired me.

In spite of the fact that her body could not move on its own, Judith would always say that she was not “disabled”. The conditions that her body presented to her life, though challenging, were inspiration for creativity. Daily life was a creative act, much like an artist facing the challenge of bringing a vision to life, always facing the limitations of the materials available. The imaginative manipulation of these limitations that make each creation unique.​As her attendant, I went wherever she was going. My job was to listen, to take her direction, to do the things that would make it possible for her to participate in the things that she wanted to participate in, to be her arms and legs when she needed them, and fade into the background when necessary. This included everything from waking up in the morning, bathing, toilet, dressing, preparing food for the day, eating, shopping, and driving to all of the places she met with people…and in the evening winding down, doing all of the things required to be able to sleep.

I learned about the art of listening to words and silences, of paying attention, and being conscious. There was a quiet tiredness in the evening that made everything more clear. For Judith to move in and out of her chair and bed, she required the use of a Hoyer lift. To use the Hoyer lift, Judith sat in a sling attached to a hydraulic arm that her attendant would pump to raise her up, move into position, and lower her to her chair or bed. She was so attuned to her body from lessons learned over a lifetime of experience. Her slow, clear, and specific instructions to me about how to move, and prepare her body, were designed to ensure that there would be no creases of fabric or skin that would become pressure points that would create sores, or movements that could break her bones. Her awareness of her body was heightened by her inability to move it. Judith possessed the wisdom that comes through experience. She made the direct connection between mind and body. Absence of mindfulness had a direct line to physical harm.

I became aware of how my emotional state, affected my ability to relate and interact with others. On days when I was frustrated, angry, or distracted from the moment at hand, for whatever reason, I could see and feel how it affected the way that I listened, touched or moved Judith’s body. My lack of attention, or the intensity of my emotion, could easily cause her harm. More than 30 years later, I think of the relevance of this in all of my interactions and relationships.

I met the people who were her friends. fascinated by the fact that they too did not see Judith as “disabled”. To them, she was Judith — funny, curious, raunchy, competitive, and interesting. She was a friend who they deeply valued, and the only times that they paid attention the fact that she used a wheelchair, was when they made room for her to be with them, adjusting entryways to their homes, transforming living rooms into a bedroom, inviting strong friends to help lift her into places she could not roll into. When you know the value of a gift, you do whatever intakes to make room for all that can be received. To her friends, accessibility was a state of mind.

For Judith, ​"The only disabilityis having​no relationships"

Judith and friends hot tubbing

I met people that she was meeting for the first time. I heard her conversations. I listened to her speak. I traveled with her as she followed her interests, and the invitations she received to bring her perspective, thoughts and questions to people.

Clearly her mind worked…constantly. She was a thinker. A whole world of thought and imagination was very much alive in her mind. She questioned everything. Practical questions were incubated in the mundane challenges of daily life, of figuring out how she could get dressed, eat, move, get in and out of bed, travel, and live in a world that was not designed for her participation.

Existential and philosophical questions captured her imagination as well, partially inspired by living with an acute sense of mortality. Judith pondered a million things: the meaning of life; purpose; death; justice; politics, sex, intimacy, spirit, relationships, religion, art, power, vulnerability, inclusion and community. Nothing was out of bounds to her questioning.

Judith’s life depended on her questions. To not question, would have meant isolation, illness, poverty, and death. Curiosity was essential to survival. Judith developed mastered the art of good questions. Her perspective, and her “Why?, “Why not?” and “How might we…?” questions took Judith’s being, and her thoughts around the world, meeting people who would be challenged, inspired, and moved, by the gifts that her life would bring.

In writing this, I run the risk of of being seen to be projecting Judith as perfect, or as saint. Nothing could be further from the truth. Judith's giftedness is not equated with perfection or the stereotypical understandings of sainthood. Judith possessed the capacity to be blunt, contrary, annoying, frustrating, and extremely inconvenient, that certainly did not feel like a gift at all at times. But her relationships were sustained by the experience of the value that she possessed, offered, and was received, and it far outweighed any inconvenience or discomfort she may bring. And many times the conflict and discomfort she stirred, would settle leaving a clarity that was even bigger than Judith's original "rough" ideas.

​“Inclusion is about willingness to take unique difference and develop it as a gift to others. It is not about disability.”

Judith's long lasting friendships called upon each other to be gifted.

Reflecting on Judith’s life reminded me of an opportunity I once had to listen as an Ojibway elder from Northern Ontario spoke about the roles that each person must embody in service of the tribe. He spoke of how within his tradition there is a role for elders, grandfathers and grandmothers, aunties and uncles, in paying attention to the children as they grow, becoming aware of the gifts that they possess, gifts that the tribal community needs. Key roles are identified as being needed to be filled for the community to sustain itself— leaders, healers, warriors, teachers, and more. As children grow and their unique giftedness becomes more apparent, elders discern the role that each child will be called to embody in service of the community. Through this discernment, the elders connect the growing child with experiences and people who will become their teachers as they hone and develop the mastery required to be of service to the tribal community.

The elders presume giftedness. Each child grows into the expectation of contribution. Grandfathers, grandmothers, aunties, and uncles, pay attention to the unique manifestations of these gifts. They call upon the children to honor these gifts, to be grateful to the Creator, to take seriously the responsibility to develop and nurture these gifts so that they may be offered in service to the people. The value of a gift is only experienced in the sharing. It is the responsibility of each member to make their offering for the good of the whole tribe.

In North America, we live in a dominant culture that narrowly defines “giftedness”, by limiting constructs of beauty, intelligence, physical strength and prowess, and art. Giftedness has become an exclusive club, so much so that to dare to see ourselves as “gifted” is to become "grandiose", "arrogant", "narcissistic", setting ourselves apart from, and raising ourselves above the crowd. It takes courage to be gifted in a world that misses the point of gifts.

For Judith, giftedness is very ordinary. It is our mysterious, wonder-filled, natural state, and it includes us all. No one is exempt from giftedness. No one gets a pass from the expectation of contribution.

In Judith’s small body, entirely dependent on others to survive, amazing, wonder-filled, gifts were held…and shared, and now remain as an example for living that is worth considering.

On the day I heard of Judith passing, I paused in silence, and listened...

​Hearing LIFE calling as she passes through:…be FULLY PRESENT in the form that carries your spirit…curiously follow the QUESTIONS that call your name…embody the DREAMS and VISIONS that enter your mind, and awaken your heart…uncover the GIFTS that we carry, placing them within reach of those who need the magic they hold